


Corona | Terushima

by BlueSimba



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Dorks in Love, F/M, M/M, Teru is a master at beer pong, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Volleyball Dorks in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7759303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSimba/pseuds/BlueSimba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When life gets too busy and stressful, Terushima comes to your rescue like the dork he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corona | Terushima

Terushima’s good at crashing a lot of things—parties being his favorite (he said that they’d be too boring without him), drawn-out lectures (he barely made it to some of them because he overslept, and that’s on a good day), there was even a wedding one time for one of his cousins (at the climax, when everything was almost all said and done, he just had to shout out “Objection!” for both the reference and his own amusement. It ended up with a _very_ furious bride that cursed his side of the family, leading to a bitter rivalry. Needless to say, he’s not invited to weddings often anymore). But above all else, he crashes on your bed the most. 

It’s his number one dropping point when he comes by mildly drunk after a long night of beer pong (“The craziest one yet! You should’ve seen how shitfaced everyone was!”). He never fails to tell you that he won in the end, of course, and you’re not skeptical of his seemingly endless streak of victories. You stopped doubting his victories when you saw him in action; his high alcohol endurance is something to be noted. Seriously, if it was an Olympic sport he’d be featured in every magazine article, sporting the medals to back up his grin. (You regularly joked that his family should increase his life insurance policy. He’d return with, “Don’t you have a paper due at midnight?”) 

Somewhere, there’s always a paper due. Tonight—or rather, if you want to get technical, _this morning_ —it happens that your behemoth of a research paper is the victim. From the impossibly short time you’ve had to sit down and write it to the power fluctuation from a few hours ago (the vexing reason why your faded red alarm clock’s blinking the time repeatedly), you’re trying to survive a wicked hell that’s determined to gnaw away at your patience. Tauntingly, the word count at the bottom of the screen launches your typing into a frenzy, along with skyrocketing the number of absolutely atrocious typos that Terushima would never let you live down if he found out. 

Some of the mistakes are _that_ bad.

Which is why relief flushes your body when you hear the snores from your bed. He’s probably drooling, too, now that you’re thinking about it. As the word count increases, flittering typing accompanying it, Terushima stirs, shuffling the sheets on your bed while he twists his body, flinging one leg off the bed in the process. Incoherent words tumble past his parted lips (a habit he’s always denied because there’s no way someone as cool as he is can say those embarrassing things in his sleep). Your divided attention and exhausted brain aren’t able to pick out the mushed syllables, an unfortunate event, really. There goes easy teasing material. 

For a moment, you’re sure that he’s up with how he’s moving. 

Attention surrendering to the tyrant that is your paper, your eyes numbly scan the rows of text (that are double-spaced per your professor’s instructions).

You know that you’re in deep when you start thinking in the terms and subjects you’re typing. 

“[First]?” his groggy, hoarse voice calls. 

The clattering of keys stops with the rasp raking its way up his throat. 

“Yeah?” Swiveling around to meet two drained eyes and an incredible case of bedhead, Terushima lazily hums before speaking again. 

He’s trying to decide how to format (as much as he can in this state, anyways) his sentence. From past encounters, it’s likely that he’s going to say something, dare you say, profound. Sometimes he delves in deeper topics when he’s drunk, inhibitions and potential worry knowing no bounds. 

“What do you think about me? About us?”

Instead of coming in the frame of a statement, it comes as questions. 

Fingers curling around a nearby pencil, you tap it against the surface of the desk while you think. Terushima doesn’t comment on the zoned out stare you’re giving him as you think. A rare feat, surely, because he always teases you about when you’re staring at him for too long (he likes to use the word “fantasizing,” but it’s vehemently denied by you).

A hum bubbles in your throat, tickling the sensitive lining. 

“I think that you’re like a corona.”

“Like the beer? You know that I taste better than that.”

“No—like the sun’s corona. It’s usually only seen during a solar eclipse. You’re bright, and I’m afraid that if I look away for too long, you won’t be there anymore.”

A hulking silence rises like tides, submerging what rational thoughts you have left. A swear almost leaks from your lips when you realize just _what_ exactly you leaked. Hoping he won’t remember much of it in the morning, your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip. It’s the exhaustion, it has to be. That’s got to be the reason for that blurt. 

“Hey, come ‘er.” Terushima gestures you over with a lazy hand.

Prying yourself away from your uncomfortable chair (how long were you sitting there for? You’ve really got to invest in another one), you stumble over to him, feet refusing to cooperate. 

He pulls you into the familiar expanse of his lap. Calm breaths from his mouth tickle the shell of your ear.

“You can look away and I’ll still be here, got it? You’re stuck with me.” 

A smile curves your lips. It’s the kind of smile that he’d like to see you wear more; it leaves him buzzing. 

“Yeah. I’ve got it. And Yuuji?”

“Hm?”

“We’ll be good for a long time. Don’t worry about it.”


End file.
